


Super Hero After School Club

by YouWannaGoBro



Category: Fantastic Four, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Identity Reveal, Is Marvel Itself Even Canon Compliant, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Identity, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouWannaGoBro/pseuds/YouWannaGoBro
Summary: When the Fantastic 4 are saved by a scrawny nerd who appears to have no idea that he has super strength, how else could they return the favor but to help him understand and control his powers?In which Sue, Ben, and Reed are trying really hard to prevent this kid with powers from turning into another weirdo New York street super villain, Peter is trying to pretend he hasn't been doing the hero thing longer than all the Fantastic 4 members combined, and Johnny is trying to get a hot date.





	1. Great First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> My expertise in Spider-man and the Fantastic Four is really, really underdeveloped. I've got what I've read for classes (ex. the first 16 or so issues of Spider-man by Ditko, The 60s Galactus trilogy), what I've picked up in thrift stores (largely random Spider-man comics from the 70s and early 80s), what I've watched on TV (the 1994 Fantastic Four as well as a good chunk of Ultimate Spider-man along with a smattering of a few others), and the good word of Spideytorch jesus, Traincat. 
> 
> I did my best. I hope you guys enjoy.

While the Fantastic 4 were still fairly new to the hero scene, they had a rather good track record. When not fighting off their own specific nemeses, the random motley of evil villains always crowding New York had always seemed simple enough to deal with by comparison. The Fantastic 4 had never just barely scraped out a win by the skin of their teeth from one of the small time villains. Somehow dime a dozen randos running around in dollar store costumes just didn’t inspire the same caution in the family turned super hero squad that intergalactic threats did. That was their mistake.

Moreso than fear, Johnny largely felt humiliated as a large man in a skeleton bodysuit and plastic mask (probably bought from Wal-Mart) pushed the barrel of the gun harder into his temple. The polyester-wrapped arm clamped around his neck smelled like the costume has suffered through a few years worth of boozy Halloween parties without a single wash. One side of Johnny’s face was being lathered with pungent breath and spittle as his captor went off on the stereotypical villain rant. _He didn’t deserve the shit the world gave him so he was returning the favor, blah blah blah, you’ll all rue the day you denied Bob such-and-such, especially you, Suzy, if you’d just said yes to going on a date then--_. Johnny fought the urge to roll his eyes and mouth the words along with the villain. Sue looked terrified, frozen stiff at the sight of her little brother in the arms of this creep. Typical Sue, overreacting because her little brother was in trouble. Actually, _wait_ \--- Johnny abruptly realized he couldn’t quite recall how he’d gotten a pistol to his temple in the first place.

A really subpar attempt at an evil laugh burst forward right beside his ear. “And now you’ll be torn apart by the normies you swore to protect!” A quick glance at nearby on-lookers’ abruptly dead-eyed stare and tensing posture filled in Johnny what he’d missed. _Oh, of course, mind control_. Evidently, Johnny had flamed off and walked right into the gun’s embrace. No wonder Sue was so scared. Sue probably hadn’t even realized that Johnny was free of whatever power was causing more and more people to shuffle angrily in the direction of the Fantastic 4. As the polyester skeleton’s intrusive influence spread farther out into the bustling block, increasingly more citizens fell under his control. One teen, on his way to class, paused in confusion just before the power hit.

Johnny is perhaps _a little_ more freaked out now, watching once harmless citizens close in on his family while the warm gun is pressed harder against his hotter head. He wouldn’t be able to flame on before the man got a shot off. Johnny was doomed. The last thing he’d ever see is his family mauled by a bunch of angry zombie New Yorkers, _what a world_. All those pairs of bloodstained uggs. Amidst the awkward shuffling of those under the polyester skeleton’s control, Johnny could swear that he heard quick, very _not-zombie-like_ , footfalls, but--

There was a teen sprinting directly at Johnny and the beefy skeleton holding a gun to his head. Scrawny, nerdy, and approaching at a breakneck speed. No one else seemed to notice him, either too busy being mind-controlled, (gently) fighting off those being mind-controlled, or laughing maniacally at the flagging attempts of (gently) fighting off those being mind-controlled. Johnny had been correct, by the way, about the footfalls. This teen was not slow and stiff like the crowd. Actually, he was moving kind of inhumanly fast. Johnny couldn’t see his eyes (some cheap looking glasses weren’t helping things), but watching the teen smoothly vault over a taxi without losing speed was kinda hot (for a nerd)-- and Johnny _knows_ hot.

The teen was a little closer when Johnny finally got a look at his eyes and _shit_. Thick, heavy eyebrows were scrunched down low over empty, glassy brown eyes. This boy was also under the skeleton’s control and, for some reason, was a lot more dangerous than the rest of the citizens. Whoever this guy was, he hadn’t slowed down even as he rushed past Johnny’s family and started to pull back a fist. The nerd was gearing up to punch the shit out of someone and _goddammit_ that person was probably Johnny. The blonde grit his teeth, unconsciously shutting his eyes as he waited for the blow.

He’d heard the sound first. The crash of knuckles against teeth and the splitting of the soft flesh of the cheeks caught in between. He could smell the tang of fresh blood, but the pain never came. Opening his eyes, Johnny watched as the large man holding him was sent flying backwards and to the ground. The teen was in front of Johnny now, gritting his teeth as his unfocused eyes stared unflinchingly at the man he’d knocked to the ground. He had a _nice_ face, but that brown hair needed a combing. Not even a second had passed before the scrawny teen (he was _very_ thin) had grabbed Johnny’s captor by the neck and hefted him up easily with a single hand.

“Get **out** of my HEAD!” the teen roared as his grip tightened. Johnny watched the brunette’s free hand slowly inch up to his own neck, as though he were the one being choked. A quick glance backwards confirmed that all the people the skeleton had under his control were now grasping loosely at their necks. Johnny’s mysterious hero was now walking towards a wall, the villain still easily hoisted above him despite being thrice his size. When he was close enough, the teen slammed the man into the wall, the Skeleton’s head loudly knocking against the brick.

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” the teen shouted again, pulling the villain forward before slamming him against the wall again, harder. _Did the **brick** wall just shudder_? The hard crash of the cranium against the wall seemed to knock him out, his entire body drooping into unconsciousness. The teen let out one more frustrated snarl before hurling his closed fist into the wall beside the villain’s head. Newly powdered brick and mortar caked the side of the man’s plastic mask before he was dropped into an unceremonious heap on the ground.

All four members of the F4 watched curiously as the scrawny teen seemed to blink out of his confusion and look at his surroundings in shock. He nervously backed away from the downed villain, seemingly incredulous, before turning and jolting at the sight of the F4’s eyes carefully trained on him. Nearby, other citizens also seemed to be slowly coming out of their hazes, soft mumbles of, “what happened,” and, “the last thing I remember,” filled the tense silence.

“Wha--” the boy opened his mouth, apparently also subject to the amnesia of those under the polyester Skeleton’s control, before his eyes abruptly widened. “I’m late to class!” He shouted before running down the street (with much less speed and grace, Johnny couldn’t help but notice).

“Did that just happen?” Ben was the first to speak up. “I’m just double checking because I think we may have just had our asses saved by a scrawny kid who is even smaller than Johnny.”

“Yes,” Sue answered, chewing on her lip. Johnny knew that look: she was thinking, _planning_. It wasn’t until the F4 has made it safely back to the Baxter Building before they brought up the strange encounter they’d had again.

“I believe we had a run in with an individual with latent powers,” Reed announced.

“A child,” Sue amended. “A child with no idea what he’s capable of.”

“It certainly seemed that he didn’t appear to know he was capable of the strength he displayed,” Reed agreed.

Ben huffed. “He was scrawny, obviously the type to get knocked around in school. One day, when he’s trying to stand up for himself, he might accidentally--”

“He has no idea the weight of the responsibility and dangers associated with having powers,” Sue followed up. Reed and Ben hummed in response. “But _we_ do.”

Ben furrowed his rocky brow, “Sue, are you suggesting that we--”

“We have the resources,” Sue cut him off quickly. “The know-how. The _responsibility_. I’m not saying we make him a part of the Fantastic 4, obviously, just that we might be able to prevent one more addition to the villain population of New York. He’s just a kid. We can _teach_ him how to be safe with his powers, for both himself and those around him.”

“He would be a fascinating subject to study,” Reed decided.

Ben huffed before crossing his arms. “Maybe I’ll finally have someone I can arm wrestle against.”

Sue nodded. “We agree then. We’ll find this boy and help him control his powers.” No one noticed that the usually loud spoken Johnny had yet to say a word.

\-------------------------------------

When Peter’s spider-sense went off, he wasn’t sure how to interpret it. The danger was everywhere and yet _nowhere_? Whatever it was, _wherever it was_ , it was bad, really, really **bad**. Abruptly, he felt a sweltering anger fill his mind, which-- admittedly-- was not an entirely new sensation to him. After a year and some change in the hero business, he was not unfamiliar with the burning, bubbling itch under his skin when rage coursed through his veins. Whether it be the Bugle’s stories, the citizens that cursed his name and threw rotted fruit at him even as he held up crumbling buildings for them, the villains that mocked him as they ground his face into the asphalt, the bullies at his school who shoved him into the walls as they passed, or merely the injustice of it all-- the punch to the gut that was every crime committed that he couldn't stop, another family down one man who didn't deserve to bleed out in the street. Yes, Peter was very familiar with rage. The thing about this was, this wasn't his own. 

Someone was feeding even more anger into the already boiling over pot that was Peter's head and this was incredibly dangerous. There was a chance he could hurt someone innocent at this rate. His spider-sense was ringing louder and louder, enough to keep the rage from drowning out all of Peter's sense of self. The anger was telling him to go forth and destroy, and so Peter used what little self control remained to redirect that fury at whatever it was controlling him. To take it out before it could convince him to hurt anyone else. 

After that it was all a blur. He knew, he was running too fast-- he'd give his powers away, the world would know Spider-man’s secret identity and then Aunt May would-- He felt his knuckles connect with _something_ and that foreign presence in his mind flinched back. _Yes_. That’s a solid start. His fingers were wrapped around someone’s neck and he could smell both the pungent, sour residue of vomit and sweat built up over a period of weeks in his grasp as well as a luxurious, (arguably nauseatingly) expensive cologne somewhere to his right. He could feel an urge to clutch at his own throat pulling his arms back to himself, but he kept the hand his enemy was trapped in outstretched. There was a strain in his vocal chords and Peter distantly realized that he was shouting. He’d crushed whatever was in his hand against something (a wall?) and the influence retreated briefly once again. Repeating the action, Peter could feel a _snap_ , the foreign presence in his mind melting away and leaving only the overwhelming fury behind. His fist was moving before he could stop himself and it took all his self control to redirect it just enough to miss whatever his target had been. 

His vision and mind cleared slowly as he rapidly blinked his eyes. Peter wasn’t surprised to see the large man bulging out of his thrift store skeleton costume collapsed on the ground at his feet. _Yeah, that checked out. Standard villain fashion sense in this city_. Largely, Peter was just overwhelmingly glad that the man was still breathing. It wasn’t until he realized his spider-sense had yet to quiet that Peter remembered he wasn’t (also) in costume, this wasn’t the cathartic calm after a fight as Spider-man. Mild-mannered (well, nothing about Peter could really be described as mild), unassuming, all-around nerdy Peter Parker had just knocked out a (minor) super villain and… looks like crushed part of a brick wall. _Crap_. 

He stumbled backwards, trying to create distance between himself and the crime scene, only to turn around and find four sets of eyes looking right at him. _Double crap_. Actually, something about the four witness standing around him seemed famili-- **Oh**. _Aunt May forgive him, but the circumstances call for it-- **Shit.**_

It was the Fantastic 4, the newest superhero squad to grace New York, among whom was one of his idols, **the** Dr. Reed Richards. _Great first impression, Peter_. 

He could hear the other people who’d been under control coming to, the confusion in their voices. It sounded like the lot of them had-- _oh. Perfect, or, well, not perfect, but enough for Peter to scrape by_. Peter was sure he already looked confused and panicked, so he threw in a quick confused mumble to top the whole mind control-induced amnesia bit off. 

Spider-man never stuck around the scene of the crime for very long (and not to mention, Peter actually was running late for class), so Peter was off after a quick, shouted excuse. It was a forcibly clumsy, slow run-- after all, this was Peter Parker fleeing the scene, not Spider-man. As he squeezed through throngs of people to get to school, putting more and more distance between himself and the Fantastic 4, Peter tried to convince himself the world wasn’t ending. 

_So maybe the newest superhero squad saw him punch a hole through a brick wall, so what?_ If he’d been under mind control, maybe they all had too. He doubted that any of the Fantastic 4 had something akin to his spider-sense to have kept them grounded enough through the mind control to remember anything. Which means they would’ve come to seeing scrawny Peter Parker standing in front of the downed villain, not to mention the hole in the brick wall right next to them that just so happened to be the size of Peter’s fist. 

Okay, so _maybe_ that wasn’t the solution Peter was looking for. Possibly, hell, in all probability, the mind control had them dazed enough that they wouldn’t be able to remember anything about Peter. His face was average enough that, honestly, the kid who punched a hole in the wall could be _anybody_. Not to mention, he doubted they really cared. Peter was small time, smaller than the thrift store skeleton guy, and he was pretty sure the Fantastic 4 rarely concerned themselves with matters that weren’t intergalactic so they had no motivation to try and remember his face. So long as they never saw his face again, they’d surely come to forget what the kid looked like at all. _Yeah_. 

Peter kept telling himself that as he shuffled in, a few minutes late, to his first period class. _Everything will be fine_. _They didn’t get a good look at your super nondescript face_. _They were being mind-controlled_. _You’re safe_. It wasn’t until the end of the school day that Peter started to believe it. Having sat on the edge of his seat for eight hours straight, constantly tense as he waited for one of the F4 to burst through the school doors (or windows or walls depending on who it was) and expose him for being the _public menace_ , Peter simply could not keep his hackles raised any longer. Surely, if they’d put together who he was, they would’ve come for him by now. 

He felt nothing but relief upon coming home to his aunt’s warm smiling face as she pulled him into a hug in the doorway. He was about to launch into telling her about his day, when she interrupted with a large grin. “Peter, you have visitors!” The teen fought to keep his hands from shaking when he spotted Reed Richards and Sue Storm waiting for them on the couch. 


	2. In the Name of Zumba Classes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Technically speaking_ , Peter _already_ was "another wacko running around the streets in tights causing rampant property damage". _Technically._

“His name is Peter Parker,” Reed announced to his family, sprawled casually about the living room. He could see Johnny perk up in interest before settling back down, nonchalantly looking at his phone. “He’s 16 and attends Midtown High School, a straight-A student,” he paused before nodding, largely to himself. “He was, indeed, running late for class.” Coughing, he made eye contact with his wife. “All data suggests that he certainly has no knowledge of his powers, nor has he ever used them aside from today. His scores in gym class are… _abysmal_.” 

“Sounds like someone else we knew, back in the day,” Ben joked, raising his rocky brow as he nodded to Reed. “This Peter kid isn’t the only one who's got superpowers to make up for never passing gym class.” Reed only raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his old friend.

“What’s his home situation like?” Sue asked. “Any of the usual markers for turning to a life of crime?”

Reed frowned. “I didn’t find any records on his parents. He was raised by his great aunt and uncle, the latter of whom passed away just over a year ago in a mugging gone wrong. The financials are tight,” Reed continued. “It would seem that Peter has taken up a job as a freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle in order to keep their household above the poverty line, but even with his added income,” Reed trailed off with a grimace. For someone so young, the world had thrown a lot of heavy hits at Peter Parker.

“He’s absolutely at risk, then,” Sue concluded. “We all know that hard times can turn well-meaning youths to a life of crime.”

Reed nodded. “I believe we should approach his caretaker, her name is May Parker, frankly with our knowledge of his latent powers.”

“ _Hey there_ ,” Ben remarked casually, joints grinding loudly as he shifted in his seat to swing a thick arm around Sue. “ _Sorry to bother you, but we believe your nerdy child actually has super strength and could become another wacko running around the streets in tights causing rampant property damage. Oh, who are we? Well, do you remember that news story from about a month and a half back about that scientist who stole his own rocket? Yeah, well that giant, talking rock is an old friend of his and-- what? No, no, you can totally trust us._ I mean, what **isn’t** trustworthy about a group of super-powered weirdos showing up on a poor, old lady’s doorstep?”

Grimacing, Reed couldn’t argue with the concerns Ben had addressed in his usual roundabout way. “Only Reed and I will go,” Sue suggested immediately.

Johnny, who’d been unusually attentive and quiet compared to the usual family meetings, abruptly sat upright to level his sister with a glare. “What?”

Sue returned her brother’s glare with ease. “You and Ben are, well, _a lot_. We’ve got a better chance of convincing this kid and his aunt to trust us and let us help him if it is just Reed and I talking to them.”

The teen seemed to sputter at the accusation. “But,” he protested, seemingly struggling to find the words. “But, I’m the closest to his age so he’d probably trust me _more_!”

“Because nothing is as reassuring as a teenager who is always one sneeze away from committing arson,” his sister replied flatly.

“I’ve gotten better at controlling my powers since then!” Johnny declared with a pout. “Besides, if anyone should be upset about that, it should be me! I lost a _really_ cool jacket because of that sneeze!” Ben cackled at the memory. 

Sue hummed, largely unimpressed. “As I said, Reed and I will meet with the Parkers and discuss helping him learn to cope with his powers and the responsibilities that come with them.”

Johnny sulked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who’d want to listen to a pair of nerds like the two of you?”

“Another nerd,” Ben drawled, “obviously. Anyway, what do you plan on telling them?”

\-----------------------------

“We believe Peter here has a latent superpower that he has yet to awaken,” Susan Storm began once Peter and May had settled on the worn couch across from them. Peter did his best to mirror the shocked look on his aunt’s face as his gaze slowly trailed to Dr. Reed Richards. Any other day, having _the_ Dr. Reed Richards in his home would be _astounding_. Being able to shoot all of his burning questions about his latest research, especially regarding things in the biochemical and bioengineering fields, at one of the most brilliant minds on the face of the planet was often the subject of his daydreams. This, though, _this_ was more like a nightmare.

“Superhuman Strength,” Dr. Richards spoke up, answering the unasked and obvious question. 

“But,” Aunt May began. Peter could hear a tremble in her voice that matched the shaking of her hands and reached out to hold her even as his gut filled with self-loathing. _Hadn’t he sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to let Aunt May get scared like this? Hurt like this?_ She returned his grip, strong fingers clenching him own and Peter couldn’t help but feel like he was the one being comforted. “ _How?_ ” Aunt May asked. “How could you know he has,” she paused, incredulous, “super strength?”

_Well,_ Peter replied mentally, _it all became pretty obvious when the skinny sixteen-year-old started manhandling a two hundred fifty pound man with one hand. Of course, when he punched a hole in a brick wall didn’t hinder the diagnosis much either._

Susan Storm tensed at the question. “This morning there was an _incident_ on Peter’s way to school.” She glanced at her husband.

“An individual that was later identified as one David Barley was causing a _public disturbance_ this morning. He’d been using a device to transmit electromagnetic pulses through the air and into nearby individuals’ cerebral cortexes in order to influence their emotional control and decision making abilities. Actually, it was _quite_ fascinating,” Reed was cut off by a gentle hand from his wife on his shoulder.

“What my husband is trying to say,” Sue resumed, “is that a man was using mind control to make citizens attack the Fantastic 4, our team. We were,” she paused, turning her warm gaze to Peter. “My family and I were going to die and there was nothing we could do. That was until your nephew arrived, also under the control of this criminal. We don’t entirely understand why,” Reed made a curious hum, “however, Peter did not attack my family and I like the rest of the citizens. Instead, he punched David Barley, rendering him unconscious and Peter and the rest of the citizens free from his control.” Peter fought to keep a wince from slipping out. _At least they hadn’t mentioned the brick wall bit?_

“I understand that such an incident alone does not suggest superhuman strength,” Reed said. _He jinxed himself_. “Your nephew also did considerable damage to a brick wall with his bare fist.”

Peter was so nervous to witness May’s reaction, he unconsciously began to grip her hand in his tighter-- _not with superhuman strength, mind you, he wasn’t **that** out of it_. Of all possible reactions, he hadn’t been prepared for the sudden shaking of her shoulders and the bubbling laughter.

“That’s my Peter, alright,” she said teasingly, turning her brown eyes on him. “Far too headstrong to let something like mind control tell him who to punch.”

“Hey,” Peter said, softly as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Rude.”

Susan shared in their smiles, a polite one spreading across her own face. “Well, I don’t think being headstrong alone is enough a defense. Barley successfully used his powers on my brother, and, well,” she let out a snort. “A single dare got him banned from every major grocery chain in New York City.” If the tired sigh from Reed was a sign of anything, the man remembered that incident well. “That being said,” Susan was back to business immediately. “Your nephew saved us and we want to return the favor. I know the idea of superpowers seems so fantastical and amazing, like all your limits are being reset and you could do anything, but--” She seemed to struggle for the right words.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Peter supplied automatically before biting his tongue.

The warm smile the blonde woman supplied him made Peter want to squirm. “Yes,” she said with a palpable relief in her voice. “We don’t know when your powers will manifest themselves, however, in the interests of your safety, the more you know about the burdens of having powers the better.” She turned her gaze back to May, “New York City is already such a dangerous place. The last thing your boy needs is one more target on his back.” Peter could feel May’s grip on his hand tighten. _Oh no_. 

“We would provide lessons on ethics, the nature of superhuman powers, controlling one’s strength, and the politics around superhuman appearances on a local and national level so Peter can prepare himself for anything,” Reed said. Part of Peter wanted to ask if they could set aside an hour or two for chemistry lessons, but largely he really _didn’t_ want to get involved in this. Who knows how long it would take the Fantastic 4 seeing him this close before his secret identity was revealed? He just couldn’t take that risk.

“I really don’t think--” Peter began before Aunt May cut him off.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “All I want is for Peter to be as safe as possible.” Peter tried not to let all the memories of the times he’d almost died in the past year overwhelm him in that moment. How many times Aunt May had been _this_ close to being alone without even knowing it.

“I’m glad you agree,” Susan said, her hand reaching out to take May’s free hand lightly. “We were thinking Peter could come to the Baxter Building, our building, downtown after school every day so we could conduct the lessons in a safe environment.”

Peter’s eyes widened. _An out!_ “I’m sorry, but that just isn’t possible,” he spoke up, trying to ignore the shocked look his aunt sent him. “I work after school. We just _can’t afford to_ \--” A sharp slap on his arm cut him off.

“Peter,” May said, worry and frustration equally weighted in her tone, “your safety is more important than money.” Peter fought back another grimace. _How could he possibly explain that he was **safer** without having to worry about the Fantastic 4 (and all their own villains) figuring out who he was?_

“We already considered that,” Dr. Richards cut in, directing his cool gaze to Peter. “We can offer you a paid internship with my company,” Peter was momentarily caught in a vibrant daydream where he was in the lab with _the_ Dr. Richards, working on the next great-- “It’d largely be small things such as copying documents and fetching coffee,” Reed continued, oblivious to Peter’s crushed heart. The teen is gearing up to say no again when Susan opens her mouth.

“While the position is small, it would pay more than your current work with the bugle.” Peter shuts his mouth immediately, already doing the mental calculations. Depending on how _much_ more it paid, Aunt May might finally be able to attend that Zumba class Peter knew she’d been eyeing. Looking back at his aunt, he weighed the warmth of her hand in his. 

“Alright,” Peter answered. _Surely_ , this wouldn’t come back to bite him in the spinnerets, _right_? He just had to keep four people from catching onto his secret identity-- you know, in spite of the fact that two of them were geniuses, they all had their own powers, they already knew Peter had super strength, and that he was going to be spending hours on end in their highly-monitored, incredibly advanced building practically every day. _What could possibly go wrong?_

\-----------------------------

When Reed and Sue entered the room, Johnny immediately sat up, dropping the Xbox control in his hands to the floor so he could focus his attention on them. “Well?” He asked impatiently, gaze trailing imploringly on his sister.

“Lessons start tomorrow,” Sue said with a grin. “I need to go arrange that internship position. I’ll see you all at dinner time,” she said before walking back to the elevator. As such, only Reed was witness to Johnny’s excited fistbump.

_Huh, must be excited about having another teenager around_ , Reed thought dismissively, already turning his attention back to a project he had waiting for him in the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated this a lot faster than I expected to. This is not my typical M.O.  
> Expect me to slow down.
> 
> The dare was that he had to cook an entire five-course-meal on the premises of a grocery store, using only what was already in the store. Apparently unboxing a blender and plugging it in behind one of the shelves was "technically" shoplifting according to the manager. He was already in enough trouble before he'd tried to flambé the crêpes.


	3. Speaking of Classes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Socrates and Peter have a lot in common, to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did so much research for this chapter and I don't even know why. Seriously, why do I do this to myself?

Peter stared up at the towering Baxter Building before him. It’s spotless, futuristic architecture reached up tall into the sky, like an alien spire longing for the stars it called home and stood out amongst the New York City skyline. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Peter frowned and squinted at the glaring reflection bouncing off the pristine building. His spider-sense was silent, but he couldn’t help the feeling of foreboding boiling in his gut. With a huff, the brunette hiked his worn-out backpack higher onto his shoulders and made his way inside.

The lobby was no less intimidating than the exterior, with its fancy, minimalist furniture and incomprehensible modern art pieces-- actually, wait. Pausing in front of one particular wall canvas, Peter wracked his brain as he tried to identify the image. The winding, branching black lines looked incredibly familiar. It was when he spotted the lettered brackets running along one side of the piece that it hit him. This was one of Golgi’s illustrations. Golgi was the Italian physician-scientist who is widely regarded to have developed the first images of nerve cells by staining the olfactory bulb of a dog and examining it under a microscope. 

 

Tilting his head, Peter realized that the scientific rendering easily passed for fine art. The brunette absently wondered what other science experiments were masquerading as lobby art. Glancing around, the teen couldn’t be sure. His gut told him that the large portrait of Reed Richards awkwardly shoved into a corner of the spacious lobby and partially hidden behind a potted plant probably wasn’t one, but who was he to say. Approaching the front desk, the teen waited for the receptionist to finish up his call.

“In accounting?” The teen caught the tail end of his question. “Got it, I’ll transfer you over now.” Punching a few quick buttons on the phone console, the secretary hummed for a few idle seconds before turning his attention to Peter. “Hello. Apologies for the wait, how can I help you?” This man was nothing like the Bugle’s receptionist. Betty would’ve greeted him with a petty jab at the growing bags under his eyes and a snarky but genuine smile. As much as he wouldn’t miss being yelled at by Jameson, Peter knew there were parts of the Bugle he’d never be able to forget. Come to think of it, he forgot to tell Betty that he’d gotten a new job, hadn’t he? _Dang it, she was going to be pissed._

“Hi, my name is Peter Parker. I start an internship today?” That sounded more like a question than it was supposed to. Peter was already off to a great start with this new job. Maybe he could trip over his own feet in front of Dr. Richards or fart loudly in a crowded elevator, you know, just to really make sure he established himself as an idiot.

The receptionist was a professional, and if he thought Peter was an idiot, he wasn’t letting it show-- again, so very unlike Betty. “Here’s a temporary security badge to access low priority areas until we get you a personalized badge. Your clearance is low, which means you have access to most office spaces and conference rooms. Some minor labs are also accessible.” Peter tried not to be disappointed about that. “If you lose that badge, you will be liable. The replacement cost is $50,” Peter reflexively flinched at the thought of such a huge fee for a piece of plastic. “If your badge is found connected to any kind of security breach, you will be held legally responsible. By accepting this badge, you accept these terms. Do you understand?” The secretary had kept an easy, plastic simile on his face even as he casually described potentially life-ruining scenarios for Peter. Peter was trying not to be overwhelmed as his mind urgently constructed an imaginary scene where he was being stared down by a prosecutor in a courtroom.

“Uh,” Peter answered, “yeah. I mean, yes.”

That flawless smile didn’t budge an inch. “I’ll let your supervisor know you’ve arrived. You can wait for them over there.” He gestured to the minimalist couches. Peter grinned weakly in response and fled with a quick nod.

Peter’s first day involved one hour of training and two and a half hours of copying files and fetching coffee. _How thrilling_. This is what all his schooling had been for. God bless corporate America. When Dr. Susan Storm found him at a copy machine, trying to keep two textbook-thick stacks of paperwork separate as he fed them both into the machine, he couldn’t help but feel relieved. He was absolutely dreading whatever it was that Fantastic 4 had planned for him, but at least he wouldn’t have to fetch another venti caramel macchiato double pump hazelnut creme triple shot soy latte no foam. _At least the Starbucks was in the building?_

Following her to the elevator, she didn’t even have to swipe a badge before all the buttons on the console flashed green, _all access_. What had it responded to? Was there a DNA scanner? Did she have some kind of transdermal implant like a microchip? Peter was incredibly curious, but the question would probably be inappropriate. How does one ask, politely, _I know this sounds weird, but do you have a microchip embedded in your skin?_ Before Peter could string together words in an attempt at a thoughtful way to ask, the doors slid open to reveal a new floor. The ride had been so smooth, part of Peter wouldn't have believed that they'd moved at all if it weren't for the radically different hallway the doors opened up to. 

This floor was far less busy than the previous. She led him into what looked like a small conference room that’d been rearranged into something of a classroom. The blonde handed him a notebook and pen before nodding to the desks.

“Studies have found that physical note-taking aids quite a bit in the process of learning and integrating new information,” she said kindly as she moved to the front of the room. “You’ll be graded upon the quality of your notes.” Peter fought back a grimace. “It’s a participation grade, mostly.”

“Not to be rude,” Peter never _intended_ (well, almost never… _usually_ ) to be rude, sometimes his mouth just outpaced his social decorum. “But what exactly _Is_ the point of grades in this? I don’t think I’ll be putting my superpower GPA on my college apps or anything.”

She responded with a dry laugh. “Self-assessment,” Dr. Storm answered. “Mostly. It’s to let us and yourself know how much progress you’re making and what you need to spend more time on.”

“Oh,” Peter hummed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He wanted to say more, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t need to start getting into arguments with Dr. Storm right now. _It might affect his class participation grade, heaven forbid._

The blonde took his silence as acquiescence and activated some kind of hologram whiteboard. Peter was a sucker for weird technology but that felt… excessive. Maybe he’d change his tune if she let him take it apart. “You’ll start the lessons off with a class on ethics,” she began, a quick flick of her hand pulling up what looked an awful lot like a course syllabus. Peter absently wondered if the hologram whiteboard ( _holoboard?_ ) would respond to anyone, or if there was some kind of bioengineering involved in recognizing an authorized user. “We’ll be exploring this topic so you can really grapple with the struggles you’ll face as an individual with powers. With that said, let’s get started with your first lecture,” she said cheerily.

Peter scribbled down Socrates's name for the eighth time in the past fifteen minutes along with a quick sentence fragment featuring keywords from the lecture. Largely, he was counting on his chicken scratch handwriting being too much of a hassle to interpret. Part of him desperately wanted to impress Dr. Richards with his scholastic abilities, dazzle him with his insightful notes. The rest of Peter was tired and cranky. There was already so much on his plate, he just didn’t have it in himself to be enthralled by the philosophical ramblings of a man who thought stars were glass orbs held in the sky.

“Socrates is one of the most well-known Greek philosophers and considered to be one of the origins of most Western philosophy. One of his most well-known quotes is, “I only know that I know nothing.” This is a reflection of the principle that the more one learns, the more they realize they don’t know.”

Biting his lip, the teen fought to hold his tongue. He was listening to a lecture by the _Dr. Susan Storm_. There were people in his AP classes that would kill him, without hesitation, to be here in this moment. If he weren’t friends with Gwen, he would already be buried in her backyard. As it was, she had demanded an autograph in exchange for the opportunity to continue to breathe. MJ hadn’t decided what she wanted from Peter, in exchange for not telling everyone in Midtown about his newfound access to the Fantastic 4 members. He didn’t have to say what he was thinking (namely that, for someone with no opinion, Socrates was hella argumentative), he could just write it down in his notes instead. Easy.

_Socrates: I know that I know nothing, and also that you’re wrong._

“In psychology, this is called the Dunning-Kruger effect, where those who have very little knowledge on a subject overestimate their abilities compared to others, whereas those who have a great deal of knowledge on a subject underestimate their abilities compared to others. This is why education is so important. It doesn’t just teach knowledge but the scope of knowledge as well as humility.”

Peter didn’t consider himself a fan of philosophy. For the most part, his interactions with philosophy up to this point had been chuckling at Nietzsche quotes. Something about philosophy, in its fully realized form, felt as alienating and uncomfortable to Peter as walking into one of the luxury stores on Seventh Avenue while wearing his ratty sneakers. He didn’t need the long-winded volumes of endless rumination by long-dead so-called wise men on questions so abstracted that you lose all frame of reference. His uncle had defined everything so clearly for Peter. The boy had no need for the input of any of those supposed wise men. Ben had been wiser.

“This is also why we study philosophy. In order to do good, we have to know _how_ to do good.”

So much of philosophy hinged on the hypothetical. It frustrated Peter. Hearing these diatribes about moral responsibility made Peter itch to swing from building to building, dropping into any one of the many alleyways where someone’s life was on the brink of ending at this very moment. Yet he was here, too busy talking about _why_ do good, to actually _do good_.

“It teaches us why it is so important to do good.”

His grip on the pen tightened as he started to dig the writing utensil in the paper. Sharper writing, even more illegible, matched his gritted teeth. If he wasn’t careful, the pen would shatter in his hand.

“Now, Socrates--”

The door to the makeshift classroom slammed open, drawing Peter out of the angry haze in the back of his mind. Glancing back, Peter spotted Johnny Storm standing proudly in the doorway. Aside from the Thing, the Human Torch was the Fantastic 4 member that Peter knew the least about. He knew that the Human Torch was popular, having appeared in a fair number of conversations he’d overheard between classes at school. People liked him in a way that they did not like Spider-man. They trusted him (and the rest of the F4) in a way they did not trust Spider-man, despite Spider-man having proven time and time again that he’d die for this city if they asked him to. Something told Peter he and the Human Torch would not get along.

The blonde teen swaggered into the room, almost as if he could hear the squeals of adoring fangirls everywhere he went. _Yeah,_ Peter wasn’t going to hold his breath waiting for a friendship with the boy. Color Peter surprised when the Human Torch plopped into the seat next to him and settled in, shooting the brunette and his sister a literal award-winning smile.

“Johnny,” Dr. Storm said with a strained smile. “What a pleasant surprise. Tell me, what, exactly, are you doing here?” She perched her hands on her hips and Peter got the distinct impression she was doing her best to keep from smacking him.

“Well, seeing as I’ve also got superpowers and I’ve never been in a class like this,” the Human Torch said, more like he was musing to himself than speaking to his sister. “I figured I should probably learn this stuff too.”

It was incredibly obvious that Dr. Storm didn’t believe her brother for a second. To be fair, Peter didn’t either. The things Peter had overheard in the halls did not suggest the Human Torch had any interest in ethics. Dr. Storm’s eyebrows were raised high over her blue eyes which were unflinchingly trained on her younger brother. Peter swore he saw something flash in her eyes when her smile widened.

“I’m so glad that you’re showing such initiative, Johnny.” Fetching another notebook and pen from the front of the room, Dr. Storm brought them both to her brother. “I was worried Reed and I had been giving you too much homework lately. I’m glad to know you want a more rigorous workload.” She shoved the notebook in the Human Torch’s horrified face, smile wide and teasing. “I’d like a 600-word essay by tomorrow at noon on what we discuss in class today.”

“What?!” the Human Torch sputtered indignantly. Part of Peter felt a little like he was intruding on a private family moment, the rest of him was cackling. “But I missed, like, half the class!”

“You missed fifteen minutes. This is a two-hour lecture,” Dr. Storm spoke, but the Human Torch clearly wasn’t listening, his attention wholly focused on Peter.

“Can I borrow your notes? To copy?” He asked Peter with wide eyes that the brunette didn’t know how to interpret. Glancing down at his chicken scratch, Peter felt a brief stab of guilt. _Brief_ was the keyword because Peter quickly put on a polite smile and handed the notebook over. Dr. Storm had made her way back to the front of the room during the exchange, gearing up to resume her lecture.

“As I was saying, Socrates claimed--”

“Dude,” the Human Torch immediately interrupted, his attention still on Peter. “What the hell is up with your handwriting? I can’t read any of this. How am I supposed to copy this?”

Peter didn’t move his eyes away from the holoboard filled with notes. “Grit, determination, elbow grease,” he answered.

Huffing, the Human Torch rolled his eyes. “Sure. What does this say?” He asked, pointing to one of the scribbles. Peter leaned over for a closer look.

“Socrates: I know that I know nothing, and also that you’re wrong,” Peter said simply.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Storm asked. She didn’t sound upset, but Parker should probably explain his reasoning politely.

“Socrates argued with everyone. All the time. He might _say_ he doesn’t have an opinion, but he didn’t act like it.” _Or not_. Peter braced himself for scolding ( _why are you like this, Peter? You made **the** Dr. Storm angry!_ ) when the Human Torch burst into laughter.

“I’m going to write my essay on that,” the blonde declared happily.

“No,” Dr. Storm responded and Peter felt his stomach drop. “You haven’t worked through the reasoning as Peter has. You don’t understand it fully. You’d only be copying Peter’s words. Come up with your own opinions.” _Oh._ Evidently, Dr. Storm was not opposed to Peter’s argument that Socrates was a bit of a… _hippocrates_. He tried not to laugh at his own joke, schooling his face as he focused on Dr. Storm’s lecture. “Now, as I was saying, Socrates, despite his renown today, was generally mocked by Athenian society. Many accused him of corrupting the youth of Athens.”

“Does that mean Socrates was basically an Athenian rock star?” the Human Torch asked. Peter cracked a smile. He was able to let go of those intrusive thoughts of alleyways once more.

\-----------------------------

After ethics class, Peter was escorted by the Human Torch to a training area on the same floor. The room was large and empty, aside from a rack of various weights off to one side. Waiting for them in the room was the Thing, absentmindedly doing curls with a fairly small barbel. Peter bet his meager savings that its size was deceiving.

“Ben,” the Human Torch called out and Peter tried not to flinch at the name.

“God,” the Thing grumbled as he kneeled and set down the barbell. “The one pipsqueak was bad enough.”

“Lies,” the Human Torch shot back, not missing a beat. “You know you love me.”

“Maybe if you weren’t the most annoying thing in every room you’re in,” he huffed. Turning his attention to Peter, the Thing was clearly committed to ignoring the Human Torch entirely. “Alright, kid. You’re in here with me for an hour and a half. We’ll work on controlling your strength so you don’t hurt anybody or break all your shit. We’re going to start off by testing your strength.”

Peter wasn’t exactly ready to show the Fantastic 4 what he was capable of. They were too much of a liability. As much as he admired the work of Dr. Richards and Dr. Storm, he had also seen the kind of things they got mixed up in. They constantly had a very angry Lateverian king after them for one thing. Peter didn’t need himself and his aunt getting caught in Dr. Doom’s crosshairs. He already had his own litany of villains to cope with; he didn’t need the F4’s as well. All this meant revealing as little as possible to the members of the Fantastic 4.

Peter was led to the weights and the brunette frowned as he looked them over. They didn’t have any labels marking just how heavy they were. The one The Thing had been curling was fairly small so he couldn’t be sure how heavy any of these were. Would lifting one of the innocuous, small ones give away far more of his strength than he wanted to?

“Just pick any of those and give it a go,” the Thing said noncommittally. Peter did his best not to grimace. He started to reach out towards the smaller dumbbells when a shout caught his and the Thing’s attention.

“Hey, wanna see the cool new move idea I had?” It was the Human Torch, already flamed on and floating mid-air in the large training space. He didn’t wait for an answer, already flipping into a series of acrobatic stunts that Peter figured could be vaguely interpreted as useful in battle. A quick glance at the Thing revealed the man was watching the Human Torch intently, even if his posture screamed exasperation. _This was Peter’s chance._ He quickly picked up and set down a series of dumbbells, trying to find something that someone with his frame could believably lift. All of the dumbbells were easy enough for him, however not as easy as they should be. This was definitely a deceptive weight set, probably for the Thing’s use only. The smallest weight felt like it was roughly 50 pounds. 

By the time the Thing turned back around, Peter had already returned to his original spot and was looking in the general direction of the Human Torch, perfectly innocent. “Ignore him,” he grumbled and waved his hand towards the weight set. “Show me what we’re working with.”

Peter turned back to the row of dumbbells, far more confident. Without hesitating, he wrapped his fingers around the smallest one. _And now to put on a show_. Maybe for someone else the awkward grunts, the repeated shuffling and readjusting as he tried to find “ _a good grip_ ” on the dumbbell, and the moment when he brought his other hand into the equation and levered his foot against the rack to get some “ _extra strength_ ” would’ve been embarrassing. Peter had spent too many nights on the cold streets of New York in spandex to be embarrassed by this. The Human Torch and the Thing watched on; Peter did his best not to pay too much attention to their expressions. It wasn’t until Peter was stooped over, both his hands wrapped around the small dumbbell between his legs as it pulled most of his torso down into an awkward lean, everything in his face screaming that he was struggling, that the Thing had clearly had enough. 

“Kid, I saw you lift a lot more than this the other day,” the Thing said.

“Yeah,” the Human Torch agreed. “You picked that one dude up with one hand, and he had to weigh, like, 200 pounds at least!”

“See,” Peter huffed, trying to sound breathless. “You guys keep telling me that I’ve got super strength, but I’ve got no memories of using it. If I really could use super strength, I don’t think I’d get shoved into as many lockers as I do.” The Thing grumbled and gently took the dumbbell from Peter’s hands. Peter almost forgot to huff a relieved sigh, feeling the Human Torch’s eyes lingering on him.

“I was supposed to teach you how to manage your strength, but you can’t even use it.” The Thing declared. Scratching his head, he regarded the teen with a squinted gaze. “I guess we’ll use your time with me to figure out how to access your powers and also to work on exercising in general.”

“It’s for the best,” the Human Torch announced. “If you could use your strength right now, you’d have to share a weight set with Ben. Do you have any idea what his sweat smells like now that he’s a walking ad for the Grand Canyon?”

Peter couldn’t help the smile on his face and the Human Torch and the Thing started fighting.

\-----------------------------

After training with the Thing was apparently a class with Dr. Richards on the nature of superpowers. Peter was glued to his seat, eyes focused unflinchingly on Dr. Richards as the man mumbled to himself, scribbling notes on a pad about something entirely unrelated to the first few words he’d scribbled on the board-- _”The Origins of Super Powers”_

The Human Torch had followed Peter into this class as well. While the blonde had been a welcome distraction in the other two classes, he _really_ wasn’t needed in this one. Especially if he was going to keep throwing paper planes at Peter. It was when the fifth glider made contact with his temple that Peter couldn’t take it anymore.

“What?” He hissed under his breath, darting his gaze quickly over to the Human Torch before returning it to Dr. Richards. _What if the moment he turned his eyes away was the moment Dr. Richards was hit with an epiphany that, once again, redefined the scientific world as humanity knew it?_

“Dude,” the Human Torch whined. “I’m _booored_. Hey, of all the movies that are currently showing, which one do you--”

Peter shushed the blonde, not bothering to look at him this time. “I’m in a class being taught by _the_ Reed Richards. Don’t ruin this for me.”

The Human Torch huffed. “You say that like he’s your favorite Fantastic 4 member or something.”

Raising a single brow, Peter tried to tell the teen to shut up a dead stare.

“Oh my god, he _is_ your favorite,” the Human Torch sounded astounded. 

“Obviously,” Peter replied dryly.

“But _why_? I’m everyone’s favorite!” The Human Torch proclaimed.

Peter turned in his seat to face the blonde. “According to who?” 

“E!,” he replied proudly.

“According to their website, right?” At the Human Torch’s nod, Peter continued. “Their website, which is on the internet, which was developed with major contributions from,” with a flourish, he gestured to the man at the front of the room. “Did you look it up on your smartphone?”

The Human Torch nodded, pulling out a smartphone Peter had never seen before, one he bet wouldn’t be on the market for at least another year. “It was a Top 10 list of superheroes according to teens. I even beat out Spi--”

“And do you know who one of the two most relevant minds involved in the creation of the smartphone is?” He gestured once again to Dr. Richards.

The Human Torch frowned. “Okay, but his powers are super boring compared to mine! He _stretches_. Big whoop.”

“Yeah, and you’re completely incapable of ever going on a stealth mission because you glow in the dark,” Peter shot back. “Whereas Dr. Richards could probably squeeze through the smallest spaces and hide in the most unbelievable locations, making him the perfect hero for infiltration and stealth missions. Sometimes what we do in the shadows is far more important than whether or not we can shoot fireworks out of our hands.”

“Johnny could theoretically be useful in infiltration if the location requires flying to reach and utilizes incredibly durable metal defenses.” Dr. Richards chimed in, catching Peter’s attention. “He’s achieved tungsten’s melting point easily.”

“Maybe, but nothing about melting tungsten is inconspicuous,” Peter replied. 

“Not everything needs to be sneaky,” the Human Torch shot back. “Sometimes what we do where people can see is more important than whether or not you’re creeping around in the shadows.” He said with a grin.

Peter bit his tongue, trying to keep himself from arguing more. Just because stealth was his modus operandi as Spiderman, it didn’t mean everyone should opt for such a careful approach. The Fantastic 4 had certainly proved as much, brazenly baring their faces and identities to the public the first chance they got. Sure, it made them a bigger target and prevented their headquarters from ever truly being secure, but… there was an upside somewhere in there, right? Peter supposed Johnny had been getting a lot of favorable attention from teen magazines. There’s the trade off-- safety for popularity. 

“This reminds me,” Dr. Richards said, looking back to the board. “We are indeed supposed to be discussing superpowers currently. Let’s begin with the various origins,” with that Peter was laser focused back onto Dr. Richards, the argument forgotten. “The origins of so-called superpowers, which is the colloquial term for abilities people have which go beyond the scope of normal human ability, fall into a few loose categories. Some are gained from mutations at birth-- at some point during meiosis, something went wrong resulting in a genetic variation so extreme that the person is born with superhuman abilities. We believe this to be the circumstances of your mutation.” Peter wrote down everything he could, despite already being familiar with the information. After all, this was _Reed Richards_.

“Wait,” the Human Torch interrupted. “We weren’t born with our powers, so what would you call us?”

“Our powers are also the result of a mutation, however, it was not a mutation from birth. Mutations occur every day in the DNA, largely due to environmental damage, whether it be from the sun or the foods you ingest. However, we have cell cycle genes that normally seek out and repair this damage, such as tumor-suppressor genes and proto-oncogenes. Sometimes these genes will fail and that will result in a mutation, which could be as beneficial as lactose tolerance or as detrimental as cancer,” Reed responded. “When we were exposed to that tremendous amount of radiation in space, our DNA was altered to the state it is now, allowing myself to stretch and you to spontaneously combust.”

“Are you telling me that I could have cancer instead of flame powers right now?” the Human Torch asked.

“Not _could_ ,” Peter butt in. “But _should_. For all intents and purposes, you both should’ve died. If not died, then cancer is the next most statistically viable option, instead, you ended up, well, like _this_.”

The Human Torch’s brow furrowed. “Peter is correct,” Dr. Richards said and Peter wondered if he could make the man say it again so Peter could set it as his ringtone. “Calling the mutation of our powers a _miracle_ would not be an understatement.”

“Okay,” the Human Torch hummed. “So radiation causes powers like ours to develop, right? So what about other heroes? Like Spider-man?” 

“Calling Spider-man a _hero_ ,” Peter heard Dr. Richards mumble. _Oof_. There goes all his pride after hearing Dr. Richards praise him. Peter just couldn’t win, could he? Well, if Spider-man couldn’t get in Dr. Richards’ good graces, maybe Peter Parker could.

“Don’t start with that again,” the Human Torch said with a frown. “He’s saved New York probably, like, a hundred times by now!” _Honestly, he wasn’t that far off_. “Anyway, how do you think he got his powers?”

“It is hard to say,” Dr. Richards replied. “We don’t have enough evidence to speculate in any meaningful way.”

“Well, mutations because of radiation, right?” the Human Torch continued. “What if he got, like, bitten by a radioactive spider?” Peter froze.

Dr. Richards snorted. _Snorted_. “I find that highly unlikely. It is far more likely that his powers mutated from birth, seeing as--” Peter couldn’t hear. He focused everything he had on not laughing out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh-- also, I've been noodling on adding illustrations to this fic. I've been experimenting with how I want to draw Peter and Johnny. Peter's design I already mostly settled on and posted to my tumblr. Johnny, not so much. I might update slower if I try to make illustrations, however, I'm less likely to forget this fic exists if I do (which is something I'm guilty of doing before multiple times, god, I'm so sorry to people who read my fanfics).


	4. The Flaming Chad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny could totally have a Ph.D. Multiple in fact. Honestly, I think Johnny could bake an endless supply of Pretty hella Danishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author notes: I’ve only ever gotten one drink from Starbucks because I only go on someone else’s tab (because I’m too poor). I don’t actually know how people order anything at Starbucks that isn’t a vanilla bean frappa-however-you-spell-it so I took a bunch of online quizzes trying to channel Johnny’s spirit in order to figure out what he might drink. Really hoping Johnny isn’t allergic to strawberries because the internet insists he’s all about something called a strawberry steamer and strawberries and creme frappuccinos.  
> Also, writing this be like-- _This is too OOC. Peter needs to be acting like more of an asshole._

Johnny was very, very glad he had convinced Reed to let Starbucks install a location in the Baxter Building. The past year had been, well, _a lot_. One moment he was still on Long Island, walking close to the walls and peeking around corners, trying to stay out of his father’s sight line, and then he blinked and Sue was in a relationship with a big shot scientist and he had snuck onto an authorized space flight with her, her new hubby, and a pilot friend of theirs. The four of them had had their powers for a hot month now and Johnny was finally starting to settle into his new skin. 

He took a sip of his strawberry steamer. He knew it was hot, it was literally _steaming_ and he hadn’t waited for it to cool at all, but, even as the glorious sugary goodness filled his mouth, he couldn’t feel any heat. Sometimes, more so than the ability to light himself on fire and fly through the air, it was the little things that still caught him off guard. He could still remember Sue’s panicked face when she’d accidentally upended her fresh, scalding mug of coffee on him one morning. The fear morphing into confusion when he asked her why she was drinking room temperature coffee. 

He couldn’t entirely explain it, but the Starbucks was comforting to him in a way that most things weren’t anymore.

Huffing, Johnny skirted his eyes over the small plaza space that was dedicated to the coffee conglomerate trying to find a distraction that wasn’t confronting the increasingly confusing changes made to his body or the tablet in his hands. He shifted in his chair, stretching his arms out and turning his gaze to the sky with a quiet plea for an excuse not to get back to his work.

 _Nothing_.

Turning back to the tablet, Johnny reread the first question for the umpteenth time. _Something something covalent bonds something weird pictures of hexagons connected by lines something something provide the major organic product of the reaction below **dear god, send help**_. 

Apparently, there was a god (Johnny’ll start praying tomorrow), because, at that moment, the blonde caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Peter standing at the brink between the space that was Starbucks and the general lobby, heavy eyebrows scrunched down as he mouthed a list of what Johnny would bet were the drink orders of a gaggle of employees somewhere in the building. Well, they could wait for their drinks the same way his homework could wait to get done.

“Peter!”

The brunette blinked and his head swiveled to look at Johnny. Sending him a blinding smile, Johnny waved, urging the teen to join him at his table. He could see Peter looking between him and the long line leading to the barista. _That’s right. You can either join the dazzling Johnny Storm at his table for what is pretty much a coffee date (and give Johnny a reason to put off his homework for even longer) or you can wait in a long line between someone having a very angry phone call and a person who never heard of personal space and won’t stop wetly coughing on the back of your neck._ There was never really a choice in the first place. Peter slumped down in the chair across from Johnny with far more grace than you’d expect for a lanky teen who may or may not have ever heard of a _comb_ (Johnny wasn’t quite sure, but he was betting Peter hadn’t). 

“Whattup, hothead?” Peter asked casually and Johnny’s grin grew three sizes that day. _Peter was a nickname person._ Johnny _loved_ nicknames. Nothing was as special, unique and tailored just for you, as a nickname. ‘If you’re offering some kind of excuse for me to put off my seventh trip to and from this Starbucks, I’m all ears. The people waiting can’t exactly argue with, ‘ _Johnny Storm wanted my help with something_.’”

“Absolutely,” Johnny decided. Now he just needed to figure out what would keep Peter here the longest so he didn’t have to do-- “I need someone to talk me down from lighting this tablet on fire.”

Peter squinted at him in a way that Johnny couldn’t tell whether he enjoyed or not. There was something familiar about that gaze, although the blonde couldn’t place it. “Why, exactly, do you want to set the tablet on fire?”

Glaring back down at the tablet, Johnny supposed he could milk some sympathy from Peter. “It’s my homework,” the blonde whined, pulling it back up so he could stare it in its evil face. “It’s impossible! It’s literally rocket science!” He shoved the tablet at Peter so the brunette could commiserate with him.

“It’s chemistry, not rocket science,” Peter replied. Johnny felt his shoulders reflexively stiffen. _Oh_. That familiar gaze came back to him in a flash. He _knew_ he recognized that look-- that was the analyzing eyes of a scientist. He’d seen the exact same look on Sue and Reed so many times before. Now, Johnny liked Sue and Reed, actually he loved Sue to death and as long as Reed made her happy, Johnny was cool with him, however, sometimes the two invited their science-y friends over and Johnny hated it. Sometimes they gave him these _looks_ , analytical like Peter’s, like he was such a letdown seeing as he didn’t even have a Ph.D. and yet he dared speak to the venerable Reed Richards and Susan Storm. Other times they didn’t look at him at all. Johnny couldn’t tell which he hated more. 

Johnny had recognized that Peter looked like a nerd, however, he was hoping the brunette was more of a general nerd-- someone who just really liked doing well in all of his classes. In a perfect world, Peter would’ve been a literature nerd, writing and reciting romantic poetry to Johnny and not caring about how infatuated the scientific community was with Johnny’s brother-in-law and sister. Johnny really, _really_ didn’t want to play second fiddle to his family for his own boyfriend. That already happened enough with everyone else. ( _ **Reed** was his favorite Fantastic 4 member, how hadn’t Johnny realized sooner?!_ )

“Torch? Johnny?” Peter was calling him. Snapping out of his reverie and trying to mask his disappointment, knowing Peter was just going to berate him like everyone else for not getting how _easy_ all of this was, ( _Honestly, are you even related to Susan? How are you not getting this?_ ), the blonde picked up his head.

“What did you say?” Johnny asked, bracing himself to hear something along the lines of, ‘ _wow this stuff is so easy Reed probably does it in his sleep, why does he even talk to you?_ ’

“That this is chemistry, not rocket science, but I see your point.” It took Johnny a long moment to actually realize what Peter was saying. “Usually, you don’t get taught stuff like this until you’re in college. You were pretty close on the first problem, by the way. You just forgot the last step.” Peter’s dark eyes lifted off the pad to look back at Johnny. Johnny could still see those analyzing eyes of a scientist, but none of the scorn he usually associated with it. Then Peter broke into a crooked grin and Johnny’s heart skipped a beat. “I think helping Johnny Storm with his homework is a pretty good excuse for being super late with coffee.”

Johnny blinked slowly. “Alright.”

Turns out Peter was a better teacher for Johnny than either Susan or Reed had ever been, probably because Peter wasn’t always talking with a bunch of technical mumbo-jumbo thrown in. The casual language Peter used to walk Johnny through all the problems told the blonde just how well his impromptu tutor understood the subject. Johnny always thought super fancy terminology was kind of a crutch anyway for when people couldn’t explain something in simple terms. You can get out of explaining things if you just use big words so people don’t want to listen to you anymore. Not Peter though. Peter was perfectly willing to bastardize the sanctity of science with ridiculous and extremely helpful examples.

_It might be easier to remember covalent bonds if you think of a divorced couple with joint custody. A covalent bond is a chemical bond where atoms share an electron pair. The electron pair are the kids. The atoms are the adults. Despite the fact that they never want to see each other again, they have to live near each other so the kids can keep attending the same school and having stable lives. Atoms form covalent bonds in order to be more chemically stable, which is why this metaphor isn’t too bad because both focus on the ideas of stability. Now, most covalent bonds aren’t only between two atoms. Water, aka H2O or dihydrogen monoxide, is formed by the sharing of electrons between three atoms, the oxygen, and two hydrogen atoms. What this means is that, according to this metaphor, the oxygen had kids with and then divorced both hydrogen--_

Covalent bonds had never made so much sense to Johnny before. The blonde finished his homework after an hour. Peter hadn’t just given him the answers either, Johnny actually understood every single question he’d been given and worked through now. Frankly, Johnny felt smart and, in a family of geniuses, that was actually a pretty hard emotion to come by. Johnny also felt like he was having heart palpitations because, apparently, Peter being smart was a major turn on, which didn’t really make sense. Usually, that was Johnny’s turn off. Smart people were always either assholes to Johnny, too busy trying to suck up to Sue and Reed to realize he existed, or they were Sue and Reed. All in all, not exactly a group of people Johnny was going out of his way to flirt with.

“Oh.” Peter was looking towards the line to the barista, which had stayed incredibly long and constantly refilling while he helped Johnny work through his homework. “That’s the last person who was waiting on me to get them coffee,” he said with a nod towards a very grumpy, tired-looking woman who was doing her damnedest not to look in their direction. “I don’t have anything else I need to be doing now, I guess. Not until I go back and get handed another coffee order at least.”

“This has to be the most fun job you’ve ever had, right?” Johnny asked teasingly. 

“Oh yeah, fetching coffee is absolutely _enthralling_ ,” Peter shot back. “And all the work experience I’m getting? _Wow_. I might just know the entirety of the Starbucks menu by heart before the month is out. The Daily Bugle had nothing on this.”

“The Daily Bugle?” Johnny asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “Is that a news site?” Johnny was fairly certain Reed had mentioned Peter having a previous job, but he might’ve been a little preoccupied with _other thoughts_ at the time to have really listened.

“A newspaper, actually. Jameson refuses to go digital. He swears the internet is _just a phase_ ,” the brunette replied casually.

“Huh,” Johnny hummed. “What’d you do there?”

“I was just a photographer,” Peter said.

“Why does it sound so familiar though,” Johnny mumbled. The question was pointed more at himself than Peter. “I swear I’ve heard the name Daily Bugle before.”

Peter winced. “The Bugle definitely has a reputation.”

Johnny was already back on his tablet, googling this mysterious newspaper. He couldn’t _not_ know at this point. It’d bug him all day otherwise. When the results loaded, Johnny’s eyebrows rose. _Oh._ He definitely had heard the name before. “The Daily Bugle is the asshole newspaper that is constantly shitting on Spidey!” The blonde declared, moreso to himself than anyone else.

“The one and only,” Peter replied with a wry grin. “Or, well, not the _only_. That’s a lie. A lot of people like taking shots at Spider-man, literally and figuratively. The Daily Bugle is certainly one of the loudest though.”

Johnny squinted at Peter, trying to analyze him the way the brunette had been going at his homework only minutes ago. “I thought you were a cool guy, but do you have problems with my man, Spidey?”

Peter’s thick eyebrows rose in surprise before he chuckled somewhat awkwardly. “Your man? You know him personally?” There was a hint of teasing in his tone, although Johnny couldn’t figure out why for the life of him. “And, for the record, I think Spider-man is doing his best and I can’t fault him for that. He just wants to protect people.”

Johnny nodded with approval at Peter’s response. “Right? Spider-man does so much for the little people in New York that big teams like the Avengers just don’t notice. He’s a rebel with a cause who doesn’t care about the fame like some other heroes do! He’s a guy New York can always depend on.” _Wait-- is Peter blushing?_ Johnny’s thoughts were immediately derailed at the sight of surprisingly rosy cheeks.

Laughing and running a hand through his hair, _he seemed nervous-- why is he nervous?_ \-- Peter dragged his eyes away from Johnny to stare aimlessly across the lobby. “You still haven’t answered whether you know the guy or not,” the teen tried.

Johnny laughed nervously as well. It was a little awkward to sing someone’s praises like that when you didn’t actually know them. Actually, it’d probably be _more_ awkward if he really did know Spidey. “I haven’t,” Johnny answered. “I’m just a long-time fan. Even before I had my powers and got to see what being a super was really like, I always thought that Spider-Man was one of the best.” 

If Peter had been blushing before, the teen was red-faced now. Abruptly standing from his seat and looking anywhere but at Johnny, the brunette muttered something about needing to check in with the people upstairs just in case they needed something from him. Johnny had no idea what to make of it. 

“Was it something I said?” Johnny mumbled aloud.

\-------------------------------------

Johnny wandered the halls of the Baxter building, trying to track down the new intern. After how helpful he’d been yesterday, homework-wise, Johnny was really hoping Peter could lend him some insight again on Sue and Reed’s latest suicide note in the making for Johnny. There were ten pages of trigonometry alone and Johnny just couldn’t face that by himself. If nothing else, the brunette would be stellar moral support as Johnny faced certain doom by triangles.

The blonde was headed towards yet another copy room (the eighth one he’d checked so far) to see if Peter was sequestered away, feeding sheets of gibberish into one of the loud machines when he heard loud, unrestrained laughter. More than up for any kind of distraction from his homework, Johnny followed the noise to an A/V lab, only growing more curious as the laughter grew stronger. When he pulled the door open to step inside, he both was and wasn’t surprised to find Peter, doubled over in his chair in front of the monitors, clutching his stomach and cackling. 

The other teen gasped for breath upon spotting Johnny, only managing to sputter out, “well, if it isn’t the _Flaming Chad_ ,” before descending into laughter once again.

“Are you dying?” Johnny asked, grin pulling at his cheeks even as he felt concern chew at his stomach. “Is this room actually booby-trapped with laughing gas and, in, like, a hot second, I’ll also be rolling on the ground, laughing until we both suffocate?” He paused. “Heh. _Hot_ second.” 

Peter shook his head before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in. He furrowed his heavy eyebrows, clearly trying to think of something serious so he’d stop laughing, but as soon as he opened his eyes again to look at Johnny’s _gorgeous_ face, he sputtered back into laughter again. Apparently giving up on talking, the teen motioned Johnny forward and towards the monitors. 

It took the blonde a second to recognize the image displayed on the many screens. “Is this from when we met?” He asked, eyes locked onto a familiar form bulging out of his horrendous skeleton costume.

“Yeah,” Peter huffed out, finally calming himself down enough to speak coherently. “I was asked to review all the security footage of the incident and purge anything that could be used against us later. I don’t have any memories of what happened but,” he wheezed, “ _oh my god_.” He turned away from the screen to level Johnny with a gaze that set the blonde’s blood on fire ( _well, more than usual, anyway_ ). “Do you remember the fight?”

“No,” Johnny answered honestly.

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” Peter said with a smirk that caused a shiver to run up Johnny’s spine. Peter unpaused the video feed and static-laden yells immediately filled the room.

_”All I’m saying is that women never give nice guys like **me** a chance! All they want are dumb Chads who will treat them like the garbage they are!”_

Johnny gasped. “Oh my _god_. _No_.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Peter cackled.

The villain continued shouting. _”I could treat women **leagues** beyond what they’re truly worth, I would kiss the ground they walk on, I would compliment them every day whether they were wearing makeup or not, I would spend my every living, breathing moment pampering them to **death**. But they don’t **care** how much I love them and treasure them. They just want to be with people like the **Flaming Chad** over here!” _

“ _Noooo_ ,” Johnny repeated, his eyes wide as he watched himself, hypnotized, flame off and walk to the man’s side so he could level the pistol against his temple. 

“ _Flaming Chad_ ,” Peter crowed 

_”Oh, if it isn’t the **Invisible Stacy**! You think you’re too good for everybody else, don’t you! You enjoy crushing every man’s heart as you use them like the pathetic, ugly bitch that you are! You’re just like the rest of the femoids!”_

“ _Femoids_ ,” Johnny and Peter groaned in unison.

_”Feminist scum keep saying that it’s women who are discriminated against! That’s a filthy lie! Women control the world and all the men are just a slave to their whims! With my powers, I’ll set the world right! Women will be back beneath men where they belong! I’ll have twenty, no, thirty wives! All of them supermodels who will make me a sandwich whenever I want! The world will finally be back in order after shitting on me unfairly for so long!”_

Peter paused it before the polyester skeleton could continue shouting. His dark eyes lit upon Johnny and said, “I need you to understand that I’m only calling you the _Flaming Chad_ from now on.” 

“No,” Johnny protested immediately. “Don’t do this to me.” 

"What was that, Chad?” Peter asked, casually, as he fiddled with a few of the A/V controls.

Johnny bit his tongue. Peter clearly wouldn’t drop this any time soon, unless-- _Two could play that game_. “You realize if I’m Chad, that makes you Virgin?” Johnny asked. 

“What?” Peter turned around, eyes wide behind his glasses and just _daring_ Johnny to continue. 

“Glasses, dark hair, old, worn-down clothing,” Johnny listed. “Face it, if I look like Chad, which I _don’t_ , then you look like Virgin.”

“Listen up, _Chad_ , this is a battle you don’t want to start,” Peter said, everything on his face screaming deathly seriousness.

“Oh, but _Virgin_ , it’s already begun,” he said with a wide grin. “With that said, can you help me with my homework?” Peter did help him with his homework. Johnny finally felt like he actually understood the difference between sine, cosine, and tangent. If only Peter hadn’t turned every triangle diagram on his homework into the hair of a Chad face. 


	5. Geniuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My favorite one direction song is the one that goes:  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure  
> You're insecure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still feel like I'm way off base with the characterizations. Peter isn't enough of an asshole. I can't tell if I'm blowing Johnny's insecurities way out of proportion, not going on it hard enough, or just not liking the way I'm writing them. Regardless, here we are. I'm just going to keep writing this. Maybe by the time I finish, I'll have figured out the characterizations? Who knows. Only time will tell.

“Reed?” Sue frowned as she set down her stylus and tablet. A hum from deeper in the lab was the only response. “Did Johnny trick you into doing his homework for him again?”

“No?” Reed called back as his head weaved past the various machines to peak over her shoulder. His neck wobbled as his hands kept working on whatever reality-breaking gadget he’d been tinkering with.

Sue huffed fondly. “Chances are, if he did, you wouldn’t know it, hm?” Reed grumbled. “The short answer questions definitely look like Johnny wrote the answers,” Sue hummed. “Except for the fact that, the last time we asked Johnny what the theory of relativity is, he thought it was in reference to the idea that _the more closely related you are to someone, the more awkward it is to try and correct them when they say something racist_.” Reed chuckled as Sue did her best impression of her brother. “ _When your grandma says something racist, you’ve got to dance around it, you know? Can’t hurt dear old gram-gram’s feelings even when she’s saying stuff that’d get you punched in the face in public. But when your third aunt who you’ve only met for the first time today says shit, you can just tell her she’s a racist and then never speak to her again. Easy._ ”

“I take it Johnny wrote something else this time?” Reed asked.

“He explained the theory of relativity perfectly,” Sue answered, picking the tablet back up and scrolling to the short answer section on Johnny’s homework. “You can tell he didn’t just copy-paste the Wikipedia article since he uses rather _informal_ language choices. I mean, half his answer is just him expressing bewilderment that the terminology space-time isn’t meaningless technobabble from Star Trek like flux capacitors and warp drives. And a good chunk of that is him swearing that he’s never watched Star Trek because, and I quote, ‘ _that’d be like watching the worst teen drama in the world, where the only things that happen are, like, working on homework and failing at making plans with your friends. My life already is way more interesting than Star Trek. I’d like to see James Tiberius Kirk light himself on fire and fly._ ’ End quote.”

“Is Captain Kirk’s first name James?” Reed asked.

“Never watched Star Trek he says,” Sue grinned. She shook her head. “Star Trek denial aside, his answer is spot on. He hits all the major points of general relativity and special relativity. Problem is I know we haven’t taught him that. Plus, you know the bonus questions we always throw in at the end?”

Reed answered her with a grin. “Those are fun. They’re usually the ones I’m currently working on. Writing them down usually helps me work out the answers myself.”

“I don’t suppose you remember the answer for the bonus question from last week?” Sue asked.

“That one I might still be a _little_ bit stuck on,” Reed admitted.

“Well, I’ve got good news,” Sue said wryly.

\-------------------------------------

Johnny turned around with a rapidly cooking frozen waffle in his mouth. He closed the door of the fridge behind him as he raised an eyebrow at his sister, leaning against the doorframe. “Cuhhr uhr hurr yuh?” He asked with his teeth clenched around perfectly toasted waffle.

She smiled that one _specific_ smile. Johnny’s stomach dropped. He groped to his right, the kitchen table was somewhere in that direction and if Johnny was going to be interrogated, he might as well sit down for it. He wished absently that the lighting was worse or that they had one of those lamps with a bendy neck for Sue to shine in his face. Just really sell the mood.

She sat down across from him, that same smile still picture perfect on her lips. “Reed and I,” Sue started. As if summoned by the mention of his name, Reed came in and took a seat next to Sue. He, however, was not focused on Johnny but a tablet. “Reed and I just wanted to ask you some questions about your homework from last week?”

Johnny’s shoulders loosened. Oh, okay. It’s only about his homework. _Oh_. Johnny gave them his best smile-- the really classy one that he used when he needed to feel as impenetrable as Ben. “Ah, yeah. Scores suddenly way too good right? Can’t be Johnny,” he cut himself off. His throat was getting too pinched for him to keep his blasé tone. Clearing his throat casually, he tried again. “Yeah, Pete’s been helping me with my homework. Stuff makes way more sense now. I actually understand the answers I got. Could totally do that homework again right now and get a perfect score. He’s a better teacher than either of you, no offense-- actually, full offense. Might do you some good to get taken down a peg once in a while.” _Very convincing stuff there, Johnny._

Sue’s demeanor shifted. She was reading Johnny like a 1,000-page medical journal. Always an easy read for Sue. Reed, on the other hand, might as well have been illiterate.

“Yes, your performance has drastically improved as of late indeed. Specifically regarding the last question, how did you and Peter go about solving it?” Reed asked, his eyes never moving to Johnny.

“Oof, that one, yeah.” Johnny winced. “So, I’d get a perfect score except for that last one. When Pete first got the answer and explained it to me, I felt like I understood it, but if you tried to ask me what he said now, I’d probably just write the script for a bad sci-fi movie.” Pouting, the blonde crossed his arms. “That question was stupid hard. It even stumped Pete for a while. Seeing him get super worked up and go full nerd--” he coughed, hoping burying his face in his shoulder would hide the blush working up his cheeks. “We went into one of those conference rooms no one uses on the floor where you guys give us classes. Peter worked it all out on the boards in there. I don’t think anyone would have erased it.”

Reed stood abruptly, the chair clattering behind him. “Which room?”

Johnny watched Reed hustle into the conference room immediately after Johnny brought him there. Sue hung back in the doorway, a knowing smile on her face.

“What’s up with Reed?” Johnny asked. 

“So the last question on your homework is usually much harder than the rest, right?” Sue responded with another question.

He groaned. “I think last week was the first time I answered the last question. Or even really understood what it was asking.”

“Well, that was the point,” Sue answered. “The last question was always a bonus question-- it didn’t factor into your scoring. It wouldn’t be fair because those are the questions that Reed is working on at the time of writing your homework.”

“ _What_?”

“We do it for a few reasons: to show you the breadth and depth of science--”

“Like I couldn’t learn that from just peaking into Reed’s lab?” Johnny asked incredulously.

“--to prevent you from getting too comfortable and thinking you don’t have more to learn--”

“The normal questions were doing that plenty already!”

“--to keep you on your toes--”

“Why would you put Reed’s research on my homework! It’s obviously just going to make me feel like an idiot when I can’t figure it out when its disguised as a normal problem when it's actually the current interest of the world’s most brilliant mind!” Johnny practically shouted.

Sue bit her lip. “It was fun for Reed--”

“ _Fun for--_ ” Johnny sputtered.

“I knew,” Reed suddenly declared, reappearing next to the siblings so he could pull them into the conference room and towards the smart boards. “I knew that Peter had good grades and had won awards at science fairs but I hadn’t realized,” he fell silent as his eyes got caught on scribbles Johnny remembered being some kind of equation or formula that Peter had nearly torn his hair out putting together. Watching the brunette walk in circles, talking to himself as he worked out the problem had been incredibly entertaining. He would get so angry and then so excited, just bouncing back and forth between emotions as he worked out Reed’s-- _Wait a second_. Johnny’s gaze refocused on Reed. His heart dropped twice as fast as it had in the kitchen, this time snatching the rest of his intestines on the way down and dragging them with it.

“Last week’s bonus question,” Sue answered the unasked question weighing down Johnny’s tongue.

“Pete’s smart enough to get the same result as Reed?” Johnny whispered. His eyes darted back across the messy scrawl coating the smart boards. Chemical formulas interspersed with little doodles Johnny had done. There was a _pretty good_ pig in a chef hat floating over a very confusing chemical diagram that Johnny couldn’t make heads or tales of. Johnny’s seen a lot of **”genius”** in his life. Pete seemed too… normal to be like his sister or Reed.

“Reed actually hasn’t quite figured this one out yet,” Sue replied. Johnny bit his tongue trying to shout in surprise. “Reed can confirm that the answer you both got is correct, he just can’t figure out how you got it.” There was a glimmer of enjoyment in his sister’s eyes. She was enjoying watching her genius of a husband be stumped. “Seems Peter got to the finish line first on this problem.”

Johnny’s mouth was dry. Drier than any of the deserts on Earth. Drier than Mars. Drier than Pluto. Johnny couldn’t swallow, even though he desperately wanted to. Peter was a scientist but, at least, he didn’t seem to have as big of a stick up his ass as most scientists. He didn’t only ignore Johnny or belittle him, which was more than the blonde could say practically every other scientist he’d met. Johnny didn’t like scientists-- for pretty good reasons, if he said so himself-- but geniuses? His heart dug deeper into his guts. He hadn’t actually realized there was any lower for it to sink and yet--

\-------------------------------------

Peter glared at the Starbucks logo perched high above the masses like a religious despot watching over an oppressed people. Yesterday he’d accidentally asked for a venti pizza and MJ hadn’t stopped making fun of him since. He didn’t even drink the overpriced swill and yet MJ wouldn’t stop calling him things like capitalist’s bitch, basic Becky, and tall, skinny, no foam calorie-free water. Having to order coffee for nearly a hundred strangers every day he had work was really leaving its mark on his psyche. He half suspected he’d start having nightmares about coffee orders soon enough. Maybe he’d drown in a vanilla bean frappuccino or get strangled to death by a 100 ft. long list of drink orders. Peter was one more broken espresso machine holding up the line away from replacing the green goblin with Starbucks as his arch nemesis.

A loud sputtering could be heard at the front of line. “Oh, sorry, folks,” Jeremy called. Jeremy was the barista who usually had the shifts on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays from five to eight with the most nasal voice. Peter knew this because entirely too much of Peter’s life now revolved around this single lobby-location Starbucks. “Our espresso machine is acting up. Orders will be coming out more slowly for a bit.” _Starbucks. You’ve made your last mis--_  
“Peter?” The brunette startled. Dr. Reed Richards was standing right behind him. Despite having weeks to have gotten used to being in his presence, Peter’s blood still rushed when Dr. Richards called his name. It was the same sensation he got as Spider-man jumping off the first building of patrol.

“He,” he coughed awkwardly. “Hello, Dr. Richards.” _Smooth_.

“Yes, hello. I was hoping you could come with me?” Dr. Richards said quickly. A large hand was already on Peter’s shoulder, pulling him out of line and towards the elevators. 

“So, uh, how’s it hangin’?” Peter asked as he was maneuvered into the elevator.

“Hm? Ah, yes,” Dr. Richards muttered distractedly as the elevator began to move. Peter waited for the man to say anything more, but nothing left Dr. Richard’s mouth. Before Peter could make another stilted attempt at speaking to one of his idols, the doors opened and the teen was being manhandled once again. The brunette was set down in a familiar conference room. An oddly tense Johnny was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking anywhere but at Peter or the boards.

“Is this about Johnny’s homework?” Peter asked. “Because I didn’t do it for him.”

“Yes and no,” Dr. Storm replied. “We were just wondering if you could talk us through the answer you got on the last question from last week’s chemistry worksheet.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “I get that you’re _the_ Dr. Reed Richards and Dr. Susan Storm and that your names are kind of synonymous with genius but what in the world possessed you guys to put that question on a teenager’s homework? It’s practically designed to be unsolvable.”

Dr. Storm gave an incredibly effective apologetic smile. Peter genuinely almost wanted to forgive her, which was saying something because the amount of writing he’d done while trying to answer that problem had caused such a bad cramp in his wrist that he’d whiffed a thwip while out on patrol that night and face planted. In front of a camera crew. He trended on twitter for three days. Of course, the keyword was _almost_. “What kind of teaching is setting your students up to fail? That’s like shooting all our police officers in the knee as soon as they come out of the Academy. Let’s deafen lawyers right before their first day in court, I mean, so what if they can’t hear the arguments that their opposition is making? I love you guys but do you get some kind of kick out of watching teenagers try to solve Millenium Prize Problems? Because I wanted to die.”

“I understand that the difficulty was perhaps unreasonable,” Dr. Richards spoke up from where he stood in front of one of the boards. “Could you please walk us through your process?”

Peter huffed. _Since he’d done all that work, he might as well brag about it._

Johnny watched as the brunette launched into a sermon on the complicated web of diagrams, equations, and doodles that spanned across the boards. Standing between Sue and Reed who were soaking up his every word as he gestured at this symbol or that line, Peter was a perfect fit. Johnny could practically see the family resemblance in the genuine, well-founded confidence and the forehead wrinkles and crow’s feet from squinting at too many math problems or whatever it was geniuses do. No one even remembered Johnny was in the room-- too busy with their nerd genius circlejerk to bother with the family let-down. Johnny could probably strip naked and they wouldn’t even notice. Reed has doubtlessly been waiting for an upgrade and what an upgrade Peter is. He should probably just leave now before his pity party got any more--

“And this is where Johnny saved the day.” Peter’s voice cut through Johnny’s hazy thoughts. The blonde blinked and glanced towards the three at the smart boards. They still weren’t looking at him. “I was totally stuck. Ready to call it quits because, honestly? This problem can go get hit by a bus, get taken into the most expensive ER in the area by a costly ambulance, and be charged extra for not having health insurance, even though it’s been living off unemployment and food stamps for the past six months. I hate this problem. I never want to look at again but I’m probably going to dream about it for the rest of my life because the implications of the answer alone are--” His speech became strangled as he stared off into a different dimension where all the science gibberish he’d written on the board actually made sense. 

“Breathtaking,” Reed finished. 

Sue made a soft noise that Johnny interpreted as agreement. “And you say Johnny helped you get past this point?”

Peter nodded. “I talked the whole time I worked through the problem. It helped me, uh, process things. Johnny was drawing whatever I talked about.” He motioned towards the, _frankly **beautiful**_ chef pig doodle. “The doodles revealed a pattern that--”

“What?” Johnny couldn’t stop himself from blurting out.

“Yeah,” Peter answered a question that Johnny didn’t think he’d asked. “Dude, your awful doodles totally pointed me in the right direction.”

“Okay, first of all,” the blonde declared, “I am an _artist._ Those aren’t doodles, they are **masterpieces**. Second,” he paused for dramatic effect. “What?”

“Your visuals,” Peter said slowly, “helped me put together a by-line that--”

“So you admit my works are masterpieces,” Johnny interrupted.

“Jesus christ,” Peter muttered.

“I see!” Reed exclaimed, looking at the doodles. “The repetition of the pig is symbolic of--” Sue led the two boys out of the room before they could get dragged into a one-sided conversation with Reed.

“Peter,” she said, “your reference to the Millenium Prize Problems earlier was actually fairly apt. This was a problem of, admittedly, similar calibre. To be brutally honest, it was the latest problem Reed decided to tinker with. He still hadn’t reached an answer when the both of you solved it.” Johnny blinked in surprise at her use of _both_. “When we publish these results, if you’re comfortable with it, we’d like to put both of your names in the accreditations so that people are able to see your contributions.” Did Johnny say that he was surprised earlier? Because, he wasn’t. He didn’t know what surprise was earlier. He’d been a fool living life entirely ignorant of what surprise was. Now, though, now he was surprised.

“I’d really rather fly under the radar,” Peter said hesitantly, which, _what?_ Johnny was well aware he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but even he knew that there was no chance of Peter staying the anonymous face in the crowd he’d been up to this point. He was simply spending too much time with the Fantastic 4. 

“We can talk about it more later,” Sue said, clearly thinking along the same lines as Johnny. “Anyway, Reed and I were wondering if you’d let us run a few intelligence tests on you, Peter.”

Johnny watched the brunette’s posture stiffen even more. “I’m really not,” Peter seemed to scramble for words. “I’m flattered, but I’m really only a little above average.”

_Oh, honestly, fuck off._ Johnny knew that the frown on his face was so powerful, the wrinkles it’d leave behind would need the really nice face creme he saved for special occasions to be smoothed back out. _Fuck you._ The last thing Johnny needed was for the literal genius to be so humble. Unwilling to stay and listen to any more bullshit pretentious modesty, Johnny left the pair to go fly around the exercise room and burn some of his frustration off.

It wasn’t a surprise when Peter’s tests came back with extraordinary results for the science portions, especially regarding biology and engineering. Johnny felt a small sense of victory at seeing Peter’s absolute garbage score in literature of all things. He’d missed a question about Romeo and Juliet for fuck’s sake. Johnny was positive he would’ve at least gotten that one right. Whatever Reed and Sue saw in Peter’s test scores, it was enough to bring a smile to Reed’s face that Johnny rarely saw, much less put there himself. 

“We want to promote you. We’d like you to continue tutoring Johnny,” Sue said, looking back and forth between the boys. “And also take you on as a lab tech.” Peter’s face did something ridiculously unfair at the mention of the labs. Johnny was very busy being upset with Peter for being everything he couldn’t be for Sue and Reed, he didn’t need Peter being unreasonably adorable getting so perky about science. _Genius nerds and their labs, honestly_.

“Does this mean I never have to wait in line for the Starbucks in the lobby again? Because I may or may not have been ready to sneak into the building at night and destroy all their machines just so I wouldn’t have to fetch someone an $8 cup of diabetes for at least a day.” 

Well, now Johnny just couldn’t resist. “Didn’t you hear? You’re my official tutor now. That means you’re absolutely going to have to stand in line for Starbucks for me.” Johnny grinned. “Otherwise it’s a harmful learning environment.”

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the slump in Peter’s shoulders didn’t look as crushed as he could’ve been. “End me now.”


	6. Fuck Mu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "backwards y" is pronounced mu (read: mew), by the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to get my mind off some things so I banged this out in the span of a few hours. I have no idea when the next update will be. Feel free to harass me about that on my tumblr, artsybanchou.

Johnny glanced up from his _again, beautiful_ doodles in the margins of his worksheet to eye Peter. Sitting across from him in the lobby Starbucks (Johnny had insisted), Peter was busy plotting the violent murder of the Starbucks chain-- if the look on his face was anything to go by. The furrow of those heavy brows did something to Johnny’s stomach that he really didn’t need right now, _thank you_.

“Hey, virgin,” he called playfully, intent on stirring up a distraction.

Peter blinked, whatever cruel machinations dancing behind those eyes being set on the back burner so he could give Johnny an unimpressed stare instead. “What’s up, _Chad_?”

“What in the world is this weird backward y? What does physics have against regular letters? I mean,”

“Parker!” A loud voice barked from across the lobby, interrupting what was going to be an absolutely _killer_ quip-- get at least a loud exhale through the nose from Peter, if not a full snort. Both boys turned to see a girl with a dark, short bob striding towards them. A wry, slightly apologetic grin pulled at Peter’s lips and Johnny had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from showing the exact opposite expression. 

“Hey, Betty,” Peter began casually as she arrived at their table. “What brings you to the Baxter Building?”

“I could ask you the same question. How the hell did you get a job _here_ of all places?” she returned. Peter and Johnny unintentionally made eye contact before looking back to the new arrival. Looking closer, she was _quite pretty_. Johnny bit the inside of his cheek harder.

“I was in the right place at the right time. So, just luck, I guess,” Peter answered vaguely with a smile. Johnny broke skin and could taste blood in his mouth. _Damnit_. 

“Ugh,” Betty groaned, dragging a nearby chair over to their small table, _clearly only meant for two, thank you_. “With you gone, I’ve got no one to look at like I’m Jim from the Office every time Jameson goes on another one of his crazy Spider-man rants. It’s impossible being the only sane person in that office, Peter.” She never even spared Johnny a glance-- treatment Johnny was used to, just never from girls his age. He frowned, glaring back down at the stupid physics worksheet on his tablet. 

Betty and Peter kept laughing about their time working at the Daily Bugle together-- a conversation that somehow felt just as alienating as when Reed had hordes of suits with sticks up their asses visit to chat about his latest discoveries and future plans for the company. He narrowed his gaze in on the fucking backward y-- fuck _you_ 𝛍. This is all your fault.

“Jameson won’t stop whining about how no one can manage to get pictures as good as yours,” Betty said. “Apparently, Jameson hasn’t had anything good to work with since Spider-man landed on his face in front of that camera crew last week. And, since he knows we’re friends, he won’t stop hounding me about getting you to come back and keep taking pictures for us.”

Johnny let go of his grudge against the backward y to indulge his curiosity instead. Peter had said he was _just a photographer_ , but it sounded like he was some photographer to be this missed. Angling his tablet away from the pair, even though they weren’t paying attention to him anyway, he closed out of his physics homework and popped onto the internet instead. 

A quick google for: _Daily Bugle Peter Parker Photos_. Even though the Daily Bugle didn’t have a website, Peter’s pictures apparently had a few of their own. Clicking on the first link, _The Web_ , led Johnny to a Spider-man fanclub site. _Huh_. It was a forum on Peter Parker’s relationship with… Spider-man? Scrolling through the top comments, Johnny raised his eyebrows.

** spider-babe **  
_idc how good the pics are. he works for the bulge so he obv hates our boi spidey! no way would a true spider-fan work for those shitpushers_  
** thwipthwip **  
_no way!! have u seen those pics???? the passion that goes into those is clearly that of a fan! No One gets spidey pics like PP. Just look at this gallery!!_  
** datspider-ass **  
_I agree with you @thwipthwip! *Passion* is def the right word too. No way could he get such good pics without actually KNOWING Spidey. PP is, without a doubt, Spidey’s secret lover. Gawd can you just imagine that illicit love affair? A crime-fighting vigilante and the photographer working for his biggest critic??? Kjfhdulw soo juicy~~~~_  
** callmespidey **  
_nah @spider-babe had it right. No self respecting spider-fan would work for that living garbage bag JJJ_  
** chimichang_ass_ **  
_@datspider-ass okay but who is the top???? yelow thinks spidey is a bottom but ive heard spidey tell wayyyy 2many people to call him daddy to accept that_

Johnny called the message board quits to hop into the gallery the one person had posted. _Oh shit_. Yeah, no, that one person got it right. _No one got pictures of Spider-man like Peter_. Scrolling through the scans of newspaper articles featuring pictures taken by Peter, Johnny couldn’t help the flush of excitement in his veins.

Finally looking up, Johnny off-handedly noticed Peter waving good-bye to the girl-- _what was her name again?_ \-- as she left the lobby. Johnny’s sour mood had scurried back into the shadows of city alleyways at the sight of Spider-man swinging so beautifully through the sky. 

“Peter,” Johnny called, catching the brunette’s attention. “How the _fuck_ ,” he struggled for words before giving up and just flipping his tablet around for Peter to look at. “These pictures, _dude_! How?” 

Peter stared at the tablet screen for a hot second, his face reddening slightly. “Right place, right time,” he said, clearly trying to appear casual. 

Johnny frowned. “Just like how the fact you got a job here was _right place, right time_ , huh? Sure.” He leaned forward, squinting at the fellow teen. The way Peter had weirdly reacted to Johnny flattering Spidey earlier came back to mind. _Ah!_ “I’m pretty sure there’s only one way you could’ve gotten so many good shots. That’s if you knew where Spidey was going to be beforehand,” he’d pushed himself up to loom over Peter whose poker face was cracking more and more around the eyes. “ _You_ ,” Johnny said, pushing a pointer finger close to the teen’s crooked nose and pausing for dramatic effect. There was a fear in Peter’s crossed eyes, trying to look at Johnny’s fingertip, that Johnny couldn’t explain, but the blonde couldn’t back down now. “ _You know who Spider-man is!_ ” Johnny declared, careful to maintain his volume in the crowded lobby so no one else would overhear. 

Peter’s entire body tensed up, it even looked like he stopped breathing for a moment before he finally made eye contact with Johnny. “Let’s,” he paused, eyeing the large line of people waiting for their drinks from Starbucks. “Let’s take this conversation elsewhere.”

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator, headed up to one of the floors with exclusive access for the F4 that Peter finally seemed to loosen up. “I do know who Spider-man is,” he said after a long moment. 

“Ha!” Johnny yelled alongside a fist-pump. “I knew it! Well, the message boards about it might’ve given me a hint, but all your weird reactions to stuff about Spider-man finally make sense. Man, no wonder you had a smirk when asking me if I knew the guy! What were you going to say if I did lie about knowing him, though? You clearly don’t want people to know that you know his identity. Couldn’t exactly reveal yourself just to bust me in trying to flex on you.”

“Probably laugh at you with Spidey later,” Peter replied, his voice losing more and more tension with each passing second. Johnny grinned. He was getting comfortable again. 

“Man, I hope you didn’t tell Spidey about how big a fan I am. I really don’t need him to know that when I finally meet him. I’ve already got the teenage stereotypes working against me,” Johnny whined.

“Well, he’d hardly judge you for that, seeing as he’s also a tee-” Peter clamped his mouth shut, but the damage had already been done.

“Spider-man’s a teenager too?” Johnny whirled around. He couldn’t control the huge smile pulling at his cheeks. “Seriously? I thought I was the only one! It sucks being a teenage superhero! No one takes you seriously, but if Spidey’s also one,” he trailed off, before blinking back to the brunette in front of him. “Hey, do you know if Spidey also--” Peter had his hand slapped over his mouth and was shaking his head back and forth. “Aw, what? C’mon, dude! Just a little more info, _pleeeease_???”

“No way. Already told you too much,” Peter insisted before stubbornly staring up at the ceiling of the elevator. 

Johnny continued hounding Peter for more secrets about Spider-man up until it was time for Sue’s ethics class, but Peter hadn’t let another thing slip. Johnny wasn’t paying much attention, largely trying to put together Spider-man’s secret identity ( _a teenager!!_ ) and how he and Peter knew each other. Johnny really hoped it wasn’t what that one message board writer had suggested-- although they were right in that it was a _hot_ idea. Johnny was just too needy for polyamory. 

“Wait, what?” Peter’s startled question pulled Johnny out of his fantasies.

Sue smiled one of those tight smiles that Johnny knew meant he was testing her patience. “Motivation is a big variable people like to talk about in ethics classes. When trying to address _what_ it is that motivates a person to make certain ethical or unethical choices, philosophers use the term _Moral motivation_ \--”

“Yes, I got all that,” Peter interrupted. Sue’s smile tightened. _Peter, bud, you’re pushing your luck_. “You said that the Fantastic 4 gets defense contracts from the state?”

Sue, nodded. “Using my family and I as an example to examine moral motivation, one could use the defense contracts we receive as an argument that our actions, while _good_ , are not reflections of us ourselves being _good_. You see,”

“Oh my god,” Peter moaned before planting his face onto his desk. 

“Peter,” Sue’s voice was as tight as her smile now. _He was in some shit now_. Johnny bit back the urge to laugh. “Mind sharing with the class why it is you’re being so _disruptive_ today?”

Peter slowly picked his face up. “The Fantastic 4 gets defense contracts, as in they are paid to protect the city, state, nation, planet, etc. What about all the other heroes-- the smaller time ones? They’re risking their lives and not even getting paid. All the work of an official state-recognized hero with none of the benefits-- like being able to eat.”

Sue sighed. “Many smaller heroes end up getting scouted into groups like the X-Men or the Avengers, both of whom are able to provide for their members something akin to a salary--”

“Oh my god,” It was Johnny’s turn to interrupt. “It’s an unpaid internship.” 

Peter whirled around to make eye contact with Johnny. “That’s exactly it! All the work and in exchange you get _'experience’_ and the _'possibility that you may get a paid position with the company if you prove yourself’_. Problem is, what if you don’t want to join any of the companies?”

“Like Spider-man!” Johnny declared, realizing why Peter had reacted so strongly. “Spider-man has been in the game longer than us, but we’re the one with defense contracts.”

“That,” Sue cut in, clearly losing patience with both teens, “is because Spider-man is an unknown and suspicious figure. He hasn’t proven himself to be trustworthy of--”

Spotting the look on Peter’s face, Johnny interrupted immediately. “Oh, wow,” he loudly declared, standing up before grabbing Peter’s sleeve and attempting to haul him upwards as well ( _Jesus, he was heavy for a scrawny dude_ ). Peter stood up on his own. “We’re late for Ben’s strength training class so we’ve gotta bounce.”

Sue narrowed her eyes at the pair. “We’ve got another half hour of class.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said loudly, laughing awkwardly, “Ben wanted us in early today for, uh,”

“We’re getting measured for uniform exercise gear. Something about a fabric to help activate my so-called _super strength_ ,” Peter cut in quickly. With that, the boys hustled out of the room.

“I’m thinking gold decals,” Johnny announced as they made their way to the exercise room. “Just, something really eye-catching, you know? Make sure that we look _good_. I don’t trust Ben’s fashion sense at all.”

“You know I just made that up, right?” Peter asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, but Sue will follow up meaning we now need uniform exercise gear. Anyway, gold decals for sure. Personally, I like the idea of built-in socks.”

Peter’s laugh carried Johnny the rest of the way to the gym.


End file.
